


Hemlock

by seperis



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-25
Updated: 2009-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/pseuds/seperis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's lessons in swordwork leave much to be desired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hemlock

Merlin had long suspected Arthur's attention span was shorter than his sadistic streak, when all was said and done, and so it was no surprise at all that the slow nightmare that was Arthur needing someone helpless to beat with a sword would eventually become somewhat boring.

Merlin had expected, however, that this would lead to fewer horror-filled afternoons with Arthur leaping about and committing sanctioned beatings of helpless manservants (though really, this was Arthur, the biggest bully in Christendom, so it was to be expected it would take some time). Then the day dawned when apparently, Merlin curling into a ball and asking to confess to magic no longer appealed, and Merlin thought, oh thank the gods, it was over.

"You know," Arthur said, twirling the blade with the casual ease of an executioner (a person Merlin had grown more and more fond of as the afternoons lengthened and his bruises acquired bruises), "this is much less fun than it used to be."

Merlin uncurled warily, eyes on Arthur's sword, because if he'd learned one thing, it was _never take your eyes off Arthur's sword hand_. "_Really_, sire?"

It was probably the hope that did him in. With rare good humor, Arthur extended a hand, and Merlin allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, because he really wasn't any more of a target either way. "Yes." Frowning, Arthur looked him over, pacing him in a slow, terrifying circle that had never, ever ended well. "It's not really any sort of challenge, is it?"

The understatement was breathtaking in its scope and vastness; epic poetry could be written in its honor. "I'd say no," Merlin answered sullenly, and wondered if Gaius was in or if he could persuade the kitchen girls out of a cup of hot wine and a bit of hemlock. "So I should--" Merlin motioned hopefully toward the castle.

Arthur paused, head tilted, the way he always looked when sizing up an opponent or, conversely, thinking of new and creative ways to make Merlin wish he had never been born. "I've seen worse," he said thoughtfully, in a way that sounded nothing like dismissing Merlin to his hemlock. "Perhaps--no, not hopeless. And in any case--"

"Sire?"

"Interruption," Arthur said with a sharp smile, the entirety of Merlin's miserable existence flashing in his eyes, reminding Merlin it could be worse. There could be chamber pot duty again.

"Sorry. _Sire_."

Arthur raised both eyebrows, but he was chewing on a thumbnail and looking far too thoughtful. "In any case, I do need a challenge. Report to the armory when we're done here and have them fit you properly before tomorrow afternoon."

Merlin blinked slowly, feeling all the hope in the world drain away. "So--like today, then?"

"Oh, not at all. Leave the padding. We'll no longer need it."

So he was supposed to die. Merlin nodded and thought of hemlock. Gaius had a supply, surely. "Right. So you were listening when I said I wanted to die quickly?"

Arthur grinned, bright and happy, and may lightning (or Nimueh) strike him dead, Merlin felt himself smile back. "No. I think it's time you did more with a sword than polish it." With another flip of the sword, all show and not any less impressive because of it, Arthur turned away to wander off and find someone else's life to destroy. "After all," he calls back cheerfully, "if you are going to continue to try and die for me, you might as well do it well."

Merlin stared after him and wondered if there was enough hemlock for two.


End file.
